


Lay Upon My Altar Now Your Love

by bladespark



Series: Death, War, and Blood [1]
Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Blood and Gore, Dom/sub, Eldritch Thanatos, It has basically nothing to do with Greek myth but hey, M/M, Permanent Injury, Seriously there is one really gross bit, The Eldritch Chthonics, The Sisyphus Incident, slightly AU, tags are for the whole story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29705205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bladespark/pseuds/bladespark
Summary: Or, Five times War knelt to Death and one time Death knelt instead.
Relationships: Ares/Thanatos (Hades Video Game)
Series: Death, War, and Blood [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2194029
Comments: 75
Kudos: 134





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ares ends up on his knees considerably more than five times by the end, as the final "chapter" got away from me! I think the end result is good, though.
> 
> Also, finally doing a proper story with Eldritch Thanatos! There will be more. This story is a bit of an AU compared to my other stories, given that in my "main" setting Thanatos barely tolerates Ares. It's also *slightly* off canon, maybe? But maybe not.
> 
> The title, by the way, is from the Toad the Wet Sprocket song "Pray your Gods" which feels very ThanAres to me.

The first time Ares knelt before Thanatos was on the banks of the river Styx.

Ares wasn’t yet full-grown; a slight, lanky youth, and the god of raiding more than of war, for war was a thing between nations, and humanity was still young. They lived in families and clans as yet, not in nations. Not even in city-states, for they hadn’t invented cities.

He waited patiently on the river’s bank as the boatman approached. Charon was already ancient, shrouded in robes and darkness, his neck circled by crowded strings of tokens and charms, carved from bone or stone by human hands and claimed as payment for the passage of souls.

Ares carried a half-dozen of those with him, his latest harvest from the mortal world. They were little flickers of light that orbited erratically around him, and he was eager to get rid of them and be back about his proper work above.

The ferryman’s boat nudged up against the shore—there was no dock—but it seemed that this time something was different, for instead of holding his hand out to take the souls Ares had brought, Charon turned behind him and said something indistinct.

A soft, high-pitched voice answered, and to Ares’ surprise he saw a small child peek out from behind Charon’s robes. A little boy, with a long fall of silver-pale hair and intense, wide golden eyes peered up at Ares, then slowly, cautiously, hovered up into the air to alight on the shore in front of him.

“Hello. Uhm. I’m Thanatos. I’m, uhm, I’m the god of death? I’m learning how still. Charon says I should take the souls you have?”

Ares blinked down at this tiny, absurdly solemn little god-child for a moment, then he knelt down to be on the little thing’s level. “I see. So you’ll be collecting these souls someday, child?”

Thanatos nodded.

“Well, thank you, then. I’ll be happy to hand that job over to someone better suited for it. Here, let’s get you some practice handling them.” Ares cupped his hands together, gathering the little light-specks together there. They glowed red with his power as he held them out.

Thanatos’ hands were impossibly small as they dipped into the cup of Ares’ fingers and gathered up the souls, but he managed to hold them all, hovering and circling each other between his tiny palms. As he took them their color changed from red to purple, and their shape too, from indistinct blobs to little butterflies, that fluttered their wings as they moved.

“Oh! I hadn’t meant to do that,” said Thanatos, his wide eyes growing even wider.

Ares chuckled. “If you’re the god of death, child, you’ll find you do the things you should without meaning to. It was like that for me, when I started fighting. I had no one to train me, but I knew when it was right, all the same. Does this feel right?”

Thanatos nodded, bobbing up into the air as he did. “Yessir, it does.”

“Then it’s the thing you should be doing. Now, why don’t you go take those souls to see if they’ve a gift for the ferryman, and can be let into their places, hmm?”

Thanatos nodded again. “Thank you, uhm…”

“Ares, child. God of battle.”

“Ares.” Thanatos smiled, a tiny, shy little flicker of a thing, but it looked sweet on him, and Ares found himself smiling back.

“Thank you, Ares.” He bobbed in the air as almost a kind of bow, then turned and floated back into the boat, holding out his handful of butterflies to Charon with an exclamation of delight. “Look, brother! I did it! I got them!”

Charon groaned some incomprehensible answer, and waved the little fluttering lights into the boat, where they settled on the seats and turned into almost-human shades. He then gave Ares a nod before turning and rowing away, Thanatos still floating at his side.

Ares watched them go for longer than he meant to, feeling entirely charmed by the new little god. He seemed an oddly sweet creature, to be Death Incarnate, and Ares found himself hoping that the experience of claiming mortal souls wouldn’t erase that sweet nature as the little godling grew.


	2. Chapter 2

The roar of battle swirled all around him, making Ares laugh in delight. He had loved the little raids and conflicts of his youth, but he was full-grown now, and mortals had discovered war, the thing he now knew he’d always meant to be god of, in earnest.

He had thoughts, and plans for the future, of course. War could be better, grander, more glorious. This little king, Sargon, whose forces were even now pushing back the enemy, for example. He seemed ambitious enough to be drawn into grander wars. If Sargon could conquer enough of the small kingdoms around him, what an army he could build! What wars he would fight in the doing, and once it was done!

So Ares reveled in the striking of spears and the screams of men as they died.

The dying, it seemed, had attracted another god to the battlefield, for as Ares removed himself from the thick of it to better see the overarching tide of battle, he noticed a dark form moving on the fringes, solid to his eyes, but obviously invisible to the mortals around him.

Ephemeral wings, raven-black and sheened with rainbow highlights where the scorching desert sun caught them, reached out behind him, and the occasional flash of silver was brilliant as he swung the sword he was using to claim souls. Death didn’t seem to need to make direct contact, only to pick out a wounded, dying mortal and make the correct motion. The glows of their souls floated to him, becoming a flock of butterflies that circled about him as he continued his grim work.

Ares had seen Thanatos many times over the past eon or two since their first meeting. The god of death had grown from a shy child to a self-contained young god, competent but quiet, and not inclined to conversation. They’d spoken a bare handful of times, most of those early on, when Thanatos had still been learning his duties and Ares had continued to bear the weight of those fallen in battle, at least. Thanatos had taken over all the dead some time ago, though, and they’d hardly done more than exchange nods since.

Looking at Thanatos now, Ares found him fascinating to watch as he moved. His hood had fallen back in the course of his exertions, and his hair flowed around him with each motion, obviously holding a bit of power, in that it never seemed to obscure his vision, even though it was past his waist. Ares couldn’t help but smile. Thanatos had been a charming child, and so earnestly dedicated to his duty that he’d insisted on taking the full weight of mortal deaths when he’d still been but half Ares’ height. He was still short for a god, perhaps a head shorter than Ares himself.

That made him tall compared to the mortals he moved among, but not unnaturally so, the tallest of them would match him, where Ares was taller yet.

Still, he was easy to follow, despite not standing above those around him. The darkness of his clothing, the shimmer of his wings, real and unreal at once, and the gleam of his sword, silver bright and not bronze… Ares had thought well of Thanatos since that very first encounter with the charming godling, but he thought now that there might be more to admire than he’d realized.

Thanatos danced the death of countless soldiers, and it was beautiful.

Ares was mesmerized, losing track of the progress of the battle itself—though the outcome already seemed clear—as he watched Death do his elegant work.

It seemed, however, that Thanatos, young as yet, was new to working in wartime, and while he’d known enough to make himself invisible, he hadn’t counted on the problem that created. Or so Ares presumed. Thanatos was swift and dexterous enough to avoid the mortals who couldn’t see to avoid him, for the most part, but he was also doing a job, his attention divided. Ares himself knew better than to be invisible on the battlefield when he couldn’t also be intangible. Yet perhaps Thanatos’ work required a physical presence. Or perhaps he didn’t know how.

Either way, the inevitable eventually happened, a soldier reeling free of the line of battle blundering into Thanatos. The god of death recoiled from the contact. The soldier, though, no doubt working on instinct and training, immediately stabbed out at his unseen enemy, and connected. Even at this distance, Ares could see the golden ichor staining the mortal’s blade as it slashed across Thanatos’ arm. Thanatos’ own sword fell from his hand, but though the confused mortal swung again, Thanatos was no longer there, having vanished in a flash of green light to appear well clear of the fighting.

Ares felt a deep disappointment to no longer be able to watch the young death god’s dance. He also felt a flicker of something that was almost guilt. He had saturated the battlefield with his own energy, driving soldiers to battle-madness. That was very likely why the one in particular had attempted to fight an invisible foe. So he was responsible, if indirectly, for Thanatos’ wound, and for the loss of his blade.

With a frown etched on his face, Ares took himself to the spot where Thanatos had been wounded. Already the tide of battle had moved, and the soldier responsible returned to the fight. The silvery blade, so different from that wielded by mortals, lay in the dust. Ares scooped it up, then vanished once more, to appear near Thanatos, though not too near.

The young god started anyway, wings becoming more solid, as if he might take flight. Then he relaxed. “Lord Ares.”

“Lord Thanatos. I saw your injury. Does it need tending?”

“Ah. No, it’s quite shallow.” Thanatos made a dismissive motion, though Ares could see ichor still dribbling down his arm. 

Ares accepted Thanatos’ judgment of his own health, however, and instead said, “I’m glad. Then please, allow me to return this.” Ares went to one knee and held the sword out over his forearm, hilt towards Thanatos, blade in his grip. He quite deliberately held it more tightly than he should, and felt a wonderful shiver of pleasure with the flash of pain when Thanatos took it from him and scored a line along his palm.

Thanatos gaped at the smear of ichor on the blade—a dark red that was almost black—and looked at Ares in puzzlement. “I… Why did you do that?”

Ares couldn’t fully explain it himself. There was something about Thanatos that continued to fascinate him, and somehow being marked by the god of death like this was something he’d wanted. Though he knew the cut was almost certain to heal without scarring, gods seldom bore scars. “So that we might be even, Lord Thanatos. It is due to my influence that you were injured. Now I have shed a little ichor of my own in return.”

“I…see.” Thanatos looked at Ares for a long moment, brow furrowed.

“Also, may I give you some advice about moving on a battlefield such as this?”

Thanatos immediately nodded. “You may. Please.”

“If it’s possible, you should be immaterial as well as invisible.”

“Ah. Hmm.” Thanatos’ gaze went unfocused for a moment, obviously deep in thought. “It is possible, I suppose,” he said after a moment. His eyes fixed on Ares, and two little spots of heated gold appeared on his cheeks. “Although it requires me to take on an appearance I have been told is…disturbing to certain non-Chthonic gods.”

Ares smiled, and felt that he could see an echo of that shy little god-child he’d first met in Thanatos’ current expression. “I am War. I promise you that I, at least, will not be disturbed by whatever shape you might take.”

Thanatos suddenly laughed, relaxing. “I could take that as a challenge! But then I wouldn’t be able to do my work. So.” He let out a soft sigh, the wings that had nearly vanished behind him becoming more solid, unfurling, and then continuing to unfurl, pair after pair of them, his whole self dissolving into a dark creature of wings.

He was larger than he had been, looming over Ares where he yet knelt, and holding the sword in a claw rather than a hand. A trio of eyes blinked at Ares from above a raven-like beak, but there were other eyes elsewhere on the thing that Thanatos had become, countless of them, all shapes and sizes but all just as golden. The odd creature didn’t seem to have legs so much as other wings and crawling masses of shifting tentacles. The whole of him shifted, in fact, the claw holding the sword and the beak with its trio of eyes fixed on Ares seeming to be the only stable pieces. He radiated a cold, inhuman aura, a sense of echoing space and limitless distance, so Ares didn’t doubt that Thanatos might indeed make others uncomfortable, but he found himself staring in utter fascination.

“Beautiful,” murmured Ares.

“Tch,” said Thanatos, his voice now metallic and echoing. “You cannot possibly mean that, Lord Ares.”

“I can.” Ares rose to his feet and reached out, fingers finding a rainbow-sheened black father and stroking along it. It shivered under his touch, and then went immaterial, his fingers passing through it.

“Ah. Is it time for you to return to your work then, Lord Thanatos?”

“It is, yes.” The trio of eyes remained fixed on Ares, but most of the others were looking to the continuing battle. “Perhaps… Perhaps I will see you again some other time.”

“War is beholden to Death,” said Ares, “so no doubt you will.”

Thanatos nodded what could probably be considered his head, then spread several of his wings and took flight, sword still clutched tightly in his talons.

Ares returned to his vantage point, and smiled when he saw Thanatos once again at work, his dance stranger now, yes, but just as beautiful as ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO obsessed with Eldritch Thanatos. <3333333
> 
> Update: I've [drawn him](https://twitter.com/bladespark/status/1369092000318779394). Or one way he can be, anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

Ares felt the call of one of his tokens and instantly sheathed his sword. “I must go, Phobos. We’ll spar more later.”

“Of course, Father.” His son nodded and sheathed his own sword in turn.

Ares didn’t hesitate a moment longer, but took himself directly from the courtyard of his Olympian home to the source of the summons. He had made many tokens across the eons. Most were simple things, his symbol carved in metal or stone, given to those who’d earned his favor, but   
this one was different, this one he had made with his own hands, a softer thing of comfort, gifted to one who might wish to hold it and remember him, for he could not be there for her to make a life with her.

If Pyrene was summoning him, he would not waste a second to answer that call.

He appeared in a modest bedroom, and felt his heart sink to see its only occupant was the woman lying in the bed there. He would have been overjoyed to be summoned to protect her, to save her, to aid her. He knew the instant he saw her, though, that he had been called to say goodbye to her.

“Ares. You came.” Her voice was thready and weak, her hand gnarled with arthritis where it clutched the carefully-stitched vulture he’d made what seemed like only yesterday, yet to her was half a lifetime ago.

“Of course I did, Pyrene.”

A bell-toll reverberated suddenly through the room, though Ares could tell that Pyrene couldn’t hear it. Ares could, though, and could see the one who’d just arrived there, scythe in hand. His hood was up, casting his face in shadow, strands of his long hair peeking from it. His feet didn’t touch the ground, putting him at Ares’ eye level. 

Ares bared his teeth, wanting to scream. He’d come to say goodbye, and gotten scarce a word before Death arrived. “Lord Thanatos,” he said, his voice low, bitter.

Thanatos looked between Ares and the now-puzzled woman on the bed. Then with a little flick of power moved more fully into the mortal world. Pyrene didn’t seem surprised to see him, though, she only looked at him with a tired smile. “My Lord Death.”

Thanatos nodded to her, then turned back to Ares, and gave him a nod also. “Lord Ares.”

“Please, my Lord Thanatos. Can you give me but a few minutes more? I have only just arrived.”

“Death waits on no one, Lord Ares. Not even the gods.”

Ares dropped to his knees, reaching out to clasp Thanatos’ hand imploringly. If only Pyrene had been willing to call him sooner! “Please, my Lord. Please. I will grant you any boon I can, perform any task you wish. I need only a few minutes more. I beg of you.”

“I…” Thanatos frowned. “I should not.”

“I will be eternally in your debt if you would,” said Ares. _“Please.”_

Thanatos looked down at Ares for a long, long moment. Then at last he nodded. “You have always treated me well, Lord Ares. For you, but for no others, do you understand?”

“I understand, my Lord. Thank you, truly.”

“I will wait without. If I am delaying, by how long matters only a little. Take the time you need. And… You remember how it is done, I’m sure. You may bring me her soul when you are finished.”

Ares’ felt shocked with gratitude and grief mingled together, and could only nod mutely in answer.

Thanatos gave him a small, sad smile, and then moved back out of the real world, and through the wall, vanishing beyond it, though Ares could sense him waiting just outside.

“Ares?” Pyrene’s voice was soft, wondering. “I know it’s my time, there’s no point trying to buy me more, my dearest.”

Ares rose, but only to take two swift strides to the bed and sink back to his knees there. “I know, but I couldn’t bear to let you go without speaking one more time. Tell me of your life. Tell me everything since I last saw you. Please.”

“Since Kyknos left,” said Pyrene softly, sadly. “I regret that I wasn’t a better mother to him. If I’d done better…”

“No, no regrets. You were the best mother to him that you could be. He chose his own way. I tried to save him too… But I’ll speak no regrets, either. The battle goes how it goes. One cannot go back and fight it again.”

“Yes. The wisdom of War. It’s so strange, to see you, looking just the same as always. I knew you were a god, but… You’re still handsome, and here I am, all ugly wrinkles.”

Ares took her hand, stroking the thin, wrinkled skin of the back of it. “You are still beautiful.”

“What, no! Don’t be silly!”

“You are. Your soul is the beacon that drew me. It still burns bright.” Ares was used to grim tasks, but it hurt, still, to think that soon he would be taking that brilliant soul from this frail body. “But come, tell me all. Surely there are stories to be told of the years since we last met.”

“Oh, I suppose there are a few.” She began to speak, her voice weak, but not fading, not yet. Not until he took it from her. He knew that she was telling him only a fraction of what there would be to tell, in half a lifetime, but he listed with a smile, holding her hand, learning of her other children, of mortal lovers, of things that she’d done to make a life for herself after a god had loved her and, of necessity, left her.

Finally she let out a soft sigh and said, “Living hurts now, love. I am glad you came. So glad. But I think I’m ready for your friend to come back.”

“There’s no need,” said Ares gently. He bent and kissed her forehead, whispering, “Goodbye, Pyrene.”

“Goodbye, love,” she said.

Still leaning close, Ares reached into her chest and plucked her soul out. It was less elegant than Thanatos’ sword or scythe, but it was still without pain, and Pyrene’s face went slack, peaceful now in death. He slid his hand over her eyes, closing them, and rose, cupping the little red glow to his breast.

“That was well done.”

Ares looked up to see Thanatos floating there, and he nodded, then held out the spark of Pyrene’s soul. Thanatos took it, forming it into a butterfly that began to flutter in a slow orbit around him. “You could come with me to see her to the river, if you’d like?” he said.

“I…” Ares swallowed. There were conflicts he could go attend to, work he could lose himself in, but he saw the gentle expression on Thanatos’ face, and nodded. There was an odd peace to be found in Death’s company. “Yes. I will come.”

Thanatos floated close, moving his scythe so the curve of its blade and his own arms made a circle around Ares. One hand brushed his side lightly, Ares far more aware of that cool touch than he should have been, and then they were both no longer on the surface, but beneath, standing on the banks of the red-running Styx, near the dock where souls flitted about, waiting. Thanatos opened his hand, letting the little butterfly of Pyrene’s soul float free. It fluttered off along the bank of the river, dancing among other butterflies also waiting their turn.

Ares watched the little flitting glow until he couldn’t see it any longer, then made a note to himself to make certain that the proper funeral rites were performed, so that Pyrene would be able to take the ferry soon, and hopefully find peace in Asphodel or Elysium.

He felt a hand touch his shoulder gently. “She’ll be well here. I can find out where she ends up for you, if you wish?”

Ares turned away from the river with a heavy sigh. “No. Enough of my lovers and children are here that I would break myself trying to care for all of them. So no, though I thank you for the offer, my Lord.” He glanced at Thanatos’ solemn, serene face. “Sometimes I wonder why I keep consorting with mortals. I suppose it has never been in my nature to avoid risk or pain.”

Thanatos gave a shrug. “I wouldn’t know, Lord Ares. I’ve never been able to, myself. But many gods seem to find it worthwhile. They are admirable creatures, certainly.”

“Yes.” Ares sighed. “Thank you for your kindness. Whatever boon you wish of me, it is yours.”

Thanatos shook his head. “No need, Lord Ares. But now I must be off. There are other souls waiting for me to free them from pain.”

“I owe you a debt all the same. Fare you well, my Lord Thanatos.”

“You also.” Thanatos nodded, and was gone. A moment later Ares was too, returned to Olympus, swearing as he arrived, not for the first time, that he would never love a mortal again.

He was thinking nearly as much, though, of the kindness of Death, who these days visited no battlefields, for those souls had been entrusted to the Keres, Thanatos’ far-removed siblings. Ares was sure that gentle death, the release from sickness and pain, suited Thanatos far better. He thought, too, that he was glad the sweet nature he’d seen in the young godling he’d first met didn’t seem to have been turned bitter by his grim task.

Had Ares ever been sweet or innocent? He felt he was a too-hard, too-sharp thing, and even less suited for Death’s company than he’d been for Pyrene’s.

Then Deimos greeted him, and Ares was sucked back into the whirl of his life, putting all thoughts of gentle Thanatos aside. There was no point in dwelling on him in any case. A Chthonic god and an Olympian were probably even more poorly matched than a god and a mortal, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My version of Ares keeps being soft? But why not. Sure, he's enthused about combat and violence, but that doesn't mean he can't also be tender with people he loves.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anybody who's into greek myth or Hades fanon is wondering where the urn story is, I didn't want to complicate things with giants (who are also Chthonic gods, btw) or Hermes, so I made something up.
> 
> It is, however, based on a (probably) real thing! More notes at the end so I don't spoil you.

Ares marched to war.

A glorious war in which the army of Sparta, ever his foremost worshipers, spread out in conquest over all of Greece, taking slaves and treasure as they pleased. Ares reveled in it, seeing his soldiers triumph, seeing foes fall one by one. He heard the cries of the battlefield, saw the shield-lines of the enemy break, heard the screams of the fallen as they were chased down and slain. Battle after battle was decisive, triumphant, with offerings of praise in the form of enemy livestock offered in numbers he’d never before known.

The war went on and on, city after city, bloodshed and victory unending, everything Ares could ever have wanted from a war. Yet as it continued, something in Ares began to fret. No war was this easy. No city, not even Sparta, could be so perfect as to never see defeat, never be pushed back, never lose even a battle. Something was wrong.

He began picking at the details of battle and strategy. He was not a god of strategy, that lay within his sister Athena’s domain. He was the god of the fight itself, who inspired soldiers to courage and warriors to blood-lust. But he realized, as he examined this campaign, that he could not recall the names of any of the cities his Spartans had conquered.

And why his Spartans? Why was he leading the armies of Sparta? He seldom chose sides in war. Both sides were taking part in his domain, and here in Greece in particular, both sides would be certain to make offerings to him. But where were the offerings from Sparta’s defeated foes? Why were the cities they laid waste to unfamiliar? Where was his sister’s Athens, always Sparta’s greatest rival? Surely they would send forces to oppose such an unprecedented growth in Sparta’s influence and power?

Ares strained his mind against these impossibilities, and realized, suddenly that this was a dream.

Had Hypnos bound him, then? He dug in his mind for a memory of falling asleep, and could find none. What had he been doing last, before this dream?

He’d been… He’d been… Not in Sparta. He’d been over in Asia, yes. There were other gods in that part of the world, but he had _some_ power over war anywhere he went, and he liked seeing how other nations went about it. He’d been observing some remarkable horse archers on the plains in the northern part of the continent, and then…

Then what?

Sparta lingered in his mind again, for some reason. He’d been there for a moment, surely. There in the central square, facing the temple where offerings in his name had so often been made. But only for an instant and then he’d begun to dream.

He tried to shake himself, to move his body and wake, but he felt no motion. He felt…nothing. With the dream fragmenting around him, all that replaced it was darkness.

No sight, no sound, no touch against his skin, no feel of the motion of his own bone and muscle. Not breath, no heartbeat to push his ichor through it all.

Ares tried to scream, but there was still only nothing. The dream was gone entirely now, leaving him in this utter void. Had he died? Was this what souls felt, as they floated as butterflies? Surely not. They’d always seemed to know that he was there, when he’d carried them. They’d seemed to be able to direct themselves, and to take comfort from Thanatos’ gentle hands, when Death shepherded them. If he was dead, where was that gentle Death to guide him? No, he could not be dead, and in any case he was a god.

Faintly, ever so faintly, Ares began to hear something.

It was a vague static at first, the kind of noise that could be almost anything, at a great distance. Gradually, though, it began to come clear. The voices of a crowd. The sound of feet. The heavy tread of oxen and the groaning of wagons. Cries from vendors. It was the sound of a central city square, surely.

He strained for more sensation, tried to open his eyes, and saw a gray glimmer of light. That too gradually grew closer, clearer, until he was looking out at the square.

Ares recognized it instantly. Sparta. He tried to look around and see more, but could not. He couldn’t move so much as an inch. All he could do was remain where he was, feeling like a disembodied spirit—though one apparently fixed very firmly to a single spot some distance above the square—and watch what passed in front of him.

By the time three days had passed, he was certain he would go mad.

After a week, he thought perhaps he had. By that time he had figured out that he seemed to be trapped within a statue, looking out through its eyes. He only knew that because of the words and actions of those who moved around him, the Spartiates and helots, the ordinary men and women, some of whom seemed eerily to meet his eyes when they looked up, though of course they would be looking at the statue, whatever it was.

Ares had a sneaking suspicion he knew what—or rather who—it was.

On what he thought was the eleventh day, though he wasn’t certain, since he could hardly mark the days off, he both sensed and saw a sacrifice at the temple opposite him, the one in his own name. There were more Spartiates, the soldier-citizens of Sparta, in the square than usual, and they seemed to be forming up, along with more ordinary soldiers and some of the helots. It seemed Sparta was, in fact, going to war.

A procession emerged from the temple, the priests bearing a brazier on long poles, sending up the smoke of sacrificial incense. They crossed the square and set it down where Ares could no longer see it, but presumably at the statue’s feet, for the smoke of it ascended past his view still. One of the priests began to speak, a long, loud prayer, and though he was turned away from Ares, still his voice was pitched to carry, and was clear enough.

It was all the usual nonsense, but as the rambling plea to the gods—and to Ares in particular—drew to a close, the priest turned around to face the statue. “And may this offering yet again hold our Lord Ares’ spirit here, that war and victory in war may ever reside in Sparta.”

Ares wanted to howl in rage as he heard it. They had done this to him deliberately! Perhaps they hadn’t known precisely what they were doing, but they had _dared_ to think that war could belong to them! He would tear their city down around their ears and raze it to the ground!

He let out no howl, though, and made no move. He could not. He was bound to his own statue by these arrogant, presumptuous, foolish mortals, and he knew of no way to set himself free.

The rites before the statue ended. The soldiers formed up and marched off, going to a war that he, Ares, War himself, couldn’t even witness. Inwardly he snarled, raged, and cursed, he he couldn’t so much as blink his eyes. He didn’t even have eyes, or if he did, they were of stone.

As the last soldier left his sight, despair swept over him. He was trapped here, and no one knew. No god would hear that Sparta had a new statue of Ares and think anything of it. No god was likely to notice that he wasn’t tending his wars, either. His sons might eventually wonder, if he was away long enough, but how would they know where to look, and what would they do if they did?

Time passed. Ares managed to drift, sometimes, into something like sleep. Mostly, though, he watched the square, the little slice of life he was given. He came to know the mortals who passed there most often. He had nothing else to occupy his mind, after all. The merchants, plying the same wares on every market day. The lovers, with their little moments of half-hidden passion, meeting where they could to kiss and touch. The city guard, old and maimed soldiers, no longer fit to go to war, overseeing the square.

Ares felt he had gone entirely mad. He howled within himself whenever night came and he couldn’t distract himself with the mortals below. He railed against the fixed statue around him, but he could do nothing, _nothing_ to free himself. How could mere mortals have bound him thus? They continued to sacrifice to him, yet they sacrificed to what they wanted of him, not to his true power as a god. He swore a thousand times that if—when—he got free, he would curse Sparta forever.

More time passed. Ares began to drift more and pay attention to the square less. He no longer knew exactly why, or what had happened, or even who he was. He was a statue of a god, watching, and drowsing, and watching again.

Then, in the deepest part of the night, a bell tolled and a flash of green light washed over him, bringing a strange hope with it. Ares tried to gather his mind as he focused on the person hovering just barely within his field of view. He was familiar. He was… Death. Thanatos. Yes, Ares remembered.

“Oh, Ares. What have they done to you?” said Thanatos, his voice soft and sad in the midnight silence.

Ares wanted desperately to answer, but could not.

Thanatos looked up at him in silence for a long time, then said, gently, “I cannot think of any better way to do this, Lord Ares. Forgive me.”

Then he pulled back his scythe and swung it.

The world went dark around Ares, but it was a welcoming dark, the warm dark of his gentle Death, and he sank into it eagerly.

When he came to himself again he was in the water of a pool of Olympus, where gods might be reborn. He tried to pull himself from it, but his limbs felt heavy, his mind unable to remember how to move them. He’d been lost for so long. How did he go about having a body? He coughed, feeling a need to breathe, trying to lift his head to the air. Gods, he was going to drown here, and be reborn, and then drown again, in some kind of horrible, farcial spiral.

“I’ve got you,” said a soft, deep voice, and a hand pulled his head up, another going around his torso to support him. He gasped in a breath and leaned on his rescuer, recognizing Lord Thanatos’ voice. Thanatos helped him to the edge, where a stair led up out of the pool.

The room Ares found himself in a familiar one, the Olympian pool the one in his own house. He had never needed help to make his legs work in order to climb out of it before, but then he’d never been trapped in his own statue for some uncountable amount of time before, either.

Ares crawled out of the pool and rested on his knees at its edge, Thanatos standing over him, stroking his hair and murmuring soft reassurances that all was well. Ares stayed there a long time, catching his breath, trying to find his way back into his own body and remember how to move it. Eventually he attempted to pull himself to his feet. Thanatos immediately was there, helping, putting his shoulder under Ares’ arm and pushing up.

Ares leaned on the shorter god as they staggered up out of the pool and through the chamber there, out into the hall beyond. It was night on Olympus, the house of War still and silent. Ares knew at least some of his children were likely living there yet, but who knew how many, they tended to come and go as they pleased. Fortunately it seemed that Thanatos know the way to his own chambers, and guided him there.

Inside Ares went directly for his bed, and winced as he needed help to climb up into it. He felt as though he hadn’t worked his muscles in a year or more, and perhaps that was true.

Once Ares was in the bed, Thanatos pulled a blanket up over him, then gently plucked the laurels from his head, getting their sharp leaves away from him. Ares was wearing nothing else, for whatever reason, but he was too exhausted, too pushed beyond his normal limits to care.

Thanatos sat on the edge of the bed and reached out, a hand stroking over Ares’ hair. “How are you feeling, Lord Ares?”

“Better now,” he murmured, though his eyes threatened to slide closed at any moment. “Thank you, my Lord.”

Thanatos shook his head. “Thank Hermes, who first noticed something was amiss. Thank Charon, who told me of it. I did very little.”

“You did much, my Lord,” said Ares softly, feeling a familiar warmth flush through him. He knew that warmth. He had indulged in it often, but more often with mortals than with gods. It was the warmth of affection that could so easily grow to the warmth of love. Thanatos, his sweet, gentle Death, so kind even after all these centuries performing his grim duty, was worthy of love. He was worthy of devotion too, Ares felt. Death, surely, was above War. How could War even exist, without Death, after all? He wished he could thank Thanatos properly, could serve him, could show him every bit of care and respect that the god of death deserved.

Ares felt a touch on his cheek. “Rest, Lord Ares. I will tell your household that you are here, and need care.”

Ares wanted to tell Thanatos that what he needed was for Death to stay with him, but he knew that asking such a thing in such a moment would be more likely to harm than help. Still, he managed to open his eyes and say, “Thank you, truly, my Lord Thanatos. I owe you everything, now.”

Thanatos pulled his hand back and shook his head. “You owe me nothing, Lord Ares. I only did what I must. I… I hope you are well.” Then he stood and strode from the room, leaving Ares alone in his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there was (or there was a story about) a statue of Ares in chains in Sparta, said to be meant to ensure that the spirit of war is always there. Pretty ballsy if you ask me. But it fits because...
> 
> There is also something interesting you discover if you look into serious history (not pop history) about Sparta. They were almost certainly better propagandists than fighters. Quite a few of their legendary victories were actually losses. Including the story about the "if" quote. (And, I mean, their most famous battle was in fact a loss.) If Sparta ever was *truly* the best at war, it was very, very, very early in their history. For most of its existence their bark was worse than their bite. Not only that, their own propaganda eventually destroyed them. They were SO set on being elite, that anybody who failed in any way could get their citizenship stripped, and no longer be a Spartiate. There was no way to get it back, you could never be good enough to earn it. So every generation the citizens were more and more outnumbered by the slaves and "commoners" until they pretty much stopped existing and Sparta fell apart.
> 
> So, combine those two facts, and maybe Ares *isn't* so fond of the people said to worship him most. And maybe his curse on their hubris did in fact destroy them. :3


	5. Chapter 5

The altar was covered in dust, clinging to the remnants of old candles, long since burnt down. Ares brushed his hand over it, glad he could hold his breath as long as he pleased when he saw the dust plume up into the air. Eventually, though, he got it cleaned off, and the ancient wax scraped away.

Gently, reverently, he set a new candle on the edge of the altar, a taper of pure beeswax, the best he could find. He lit it with a touch, and inhaled the sweet scent of smoke and honey as it curled into the air.

The temple was tiny, built into a cave tucked into the mountains near nowhere in particular. Few mortals worshiped Death, after all. His cult was a hidden, secret thing, sometimes vanishing for generations before springing up again.

Around Ares the cavern walls were painted with symbols of death, faded images of butterflies and poppies mingled with skulls covering the irregular stone. Mortals had worshiped here, long ago, but none did now. Still, it was the only intact temple of Thanatos that Ares had been able to find, so here he was, to make his offering.

He had considered an animal sacrifice. Many such had been offered to him, but something about that hadn’t seemed right.

Instead, Ares knelt beside the altar, clean now and with its candle burning brightly, and drew a small, sharp knife from his belt.

Animal sacrifice was more common, or incense, or the libation of spilled wine. But spilled blood was an ancient form of worship, and one associated with Death in particular. Ares had ichor, a deep burgundy color that was nearly black, rather than blood, but he spilled it willingly, the knife biting into his palm, beside a thin white scar there.

“My Lord Thanatos, destroying angel, sovereign of death, hear my plea,” he said as his ichor fell in drops that showed against the altar’s pale gray stone.

Gods did not worship other gods, nor make offerings to them, so Ares knew he was being more than a little strange. Yet he knew no other way to reach his gentle Death, and no other way to express how he felt. His own ichor staining the altar seemed exactly right, truly. He owed Thanatos his life, his sanity, his station, yet it went so far beyond that. Since that very first encounter on the banks of the Styx, so long ago, a seed of admiration had been growing in Ares, and now it had sprung to full bloom within his chest.

So he added wine-dark drops to the growing puddle on the altar, and prayed, and hoped.

A bell tolled, and all at once he was there, Lord Thanatos, pale and beautiful and utterly unlike any other god Ares knew. “Lord Ares,” he said, his brow furrowed in puzzlement. “What are you doing?”

“I knew no other way to gain your attention, my Lord Thanatos. Will you accept this humble offering, my Lord?”

“I… What? Ares, what nonsense is this?”

Ares replied, “Not nonsense at all, my Lord Thanatos. I am very much in earnest.”

“Why? I do not require worship, and I will not exchange favors for offerings, even with gods.” Thanatos scowled at Ares, still hovering well clear of the temple’s dust-strewn floor.

“I am already in your debt, my Lord,” said Ares, bracing himself to speak more plainly, “and I require no favors of you. Only that I be allowed to call you my lord in truth, to be your disciple. To serve you. To…please you, if you would have me.”

Thanatos’ eyes went wide, and his cheeks flushed a sudden gold. He stared down at Ares for a long moment. Then his scowl returned. “I don’t need or want your service, Lord Ares. I didn’t aid you because I wanted to put you in my debt, and I won’t accept an offering made out of some misguided sense of obligation.”

Ares shook his head, though he felt his heart sinking. “I misspoke, my Lord, when I mentioned debt. That is not why I made this offering, I promise you.”

“Tch. How can I believe that? You, War itself, are saying you want to be my servant, for no particular reason? Don’t insult my intelligence.”

“My Lord!” Ares found it difficult to not gape at Thanatos. Did he not know how utterly enthralling he was? “Please, it’s not a matter of obligation. It’s what I want. You are what I want.”

“Don’t toy with me, Lord Ares,” snapped Thanatos, “and don’t bother trying this again.” Then he was gone as swiftly as he’d come.

Ares slammed his hand down into the puddle of his own ichor on the altar and snarled in frustration. Damn his foolishness. He should never have said anything about debts. Perhaps he shouldn’t even have said anything about service, though that was what he wanted. He should have used that other, more difficult word for what he felt.

But perhaps Thanatos wouldn’t have believed a declaration of Ares’ love either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am being short and cruel today. Mwa ha ha haha.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter specifically has a warning for some gore/kinda gross stuff.

Ares paced impatiently up and down the dock that pushed out into the river Styx. No shades were on it, they’d all fled the furious god of War when he’d arrived. He didn’t care a whit for them, save to note that there were far, far fewer of them than there should be.

Mortals had stopped dying only a day or so ago, the ones present must have failed to board the ferry then, for whatever reason. Ares had noticed immediately, of course. How could he not? He’d had a war on, a good, brutal, bloody one that he’d stirred up to express his frustration at Thanatos’ rejection. It was instantly obvious when men stopped dying on the field of battle, but only laid and moaned or screamed with the pain of what should be fatal wounds.

Ares, bloodthirsty and violent by nature as he was, was not immune to the suffering of mortals, but it wasn’t their cries that made his ichor run cold. It was the instant realization of what they must mean.

Something had happened to his gentle Death. Something so profound that even the Keres could no longer collect the souls of the wounded. Even he himself, when he’d tried to pluck a soul out, had only felt it slip through his fingers. Death itself, it seemed, had died.

Gods below, Ares hoped that wasn’t true. He might have prayed, if he knew anyone to pray to, that it wasn’t true.

He’d wasted an entire day on Olympus, asking his fellow gods what they knew, but no one admitted to knowing anything. Hermes had pointed out that Charon, and Thanatos’ fellow Chthonic gods were far more likely to have some idea of what had happened. Ares had known that already, of course, but mixed with his fear was the memory of his rejection. Trying to seek out Thanatos directly had seemed to fly in the face of his order to not try anything like the offering he’d made again.

Now, though, he was sure it was his only option, and so he paced and waited for the familiar boat to appear.

It soon did, though Ares wanted to scream or punch the dock’s pilings at how slowly Charon rowed. He did not. For one thing he knew he’d probably destroy the dock if he did. For another, he felt if he let his anger loose he’d never get it contained again.

Finally, finally, the boat came up alongside the dock. Charon looked up at Ares and let out a low groan. Ares couldn’t understand a word of it, unfortunately. “Where is Thanatos?” he asked, though the question was useless.

Charon tipped his head to one side ever so slightly, the brim of his hat angling, and groaned again.

“Never mind. I need to go down there and ask someone who I can understand. No offense to you, Lord Charon.”

The ferryman held his hand out, and for a moment Ares was incandescent with rage. This mere boatman dared to demand payment of him?

He pushed it down. This was Thanatos’ brother, and he was bound to his duty, as all gods were, one way or another. Ares pulled a coin from nowhere and placed it in Charon’s palm.

The long, thin fingers closed over it. Charon gestured for Ares to board.

He did, and seated himself, resisting the urge to pace. Pacing in a small boat was a terrible idea.

Charon dipped in his oar and the boat began to move. Ares clenched his hands together in his lap, attempting patience and succeeding poorly. He tried to distract himself by looking around. He’d never been in the underworld before. The Styx, it seemed, flowed through the whole of the realm, for he found what was definitely the paradise of Elysium sliding by, followed by the broad fields of Asphodel, and then the dark pits of Tartarus.

The sight of it all was fascinating, Ares had to admit. He’d always been interested in the underworld and its gods. Thanatos was the center of that interest, but was not the sole expression of it. Under other circumstances Ares would have been delighted to be riding Charon’s ferry down to the House of Hades, and seeing the sights along the way. None of it was enough to keep his mind from fretting over what could have happened to Thanatos, though.

At last the boat pulled up to a second dock, beside a gate, which stood open. A few shades lingered just inside it. Ares gave Charon a curt thanks and leaped out of the boat, sending it rocking behind him. He strode through the gates, looking swiftly around at the grandiose space within. It was what he would expect from a god, though the details were definitely Chthonic, not Olympian. But he had no time to spare for the decor, instead Ares’ gaze instantly fastened on the massive god sitting behind a laden desk, a short line of shades waiting before it.

“Lord Hades.”

Hades’ head whipped up and he scowled darkly at Ares. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Seeking _your_ missing employee,” snapped Ares. “Or had you not noticed that shades are no longer arriving here?”

Hades’ gaze traveled along the line of shades standing before him, then out into the hall, where only a few were scattered about waiting for who knew what. His eyes narrowed. He called out, in a way that Ares could tell was laden with a god’s authority and tuned to carry to specific ears, “Thanatos! Explain yourself!”

Nothing happened. There was no flash of green light or tolling bell, only the faint lapping of the red river and the soft murmuring of the shades.

“My Lord,” said a soft, impossibly melodious voice, “I believe Lord Ares is correct to be concerned. I have turned my senses to my son, and cannot find him, or his power, anywhere, either below or above.” Ares saw what must by the Lady Nyx, Night herself, glide gracefully into the room. She was a thing of stunning beauty, and he thought that it was no wonder Thanatos was so beautiful too, he obviously took after his mother.

Yet that only reminded him of what had been lost, and hearing that even Nyx couldn’t find him, that he was neither on the surface nor within the underworld, made something inside Ares clench in unaccustomed fear.

“Do you know where he was last, Lady Nyx?” said Ares, trying to keep the fear from his voice. He, War itself, did not fear! Yet now he did, he feared that his gentle Death was gone forever. Even if he himself never got to serve Thanatos as he wished, he could have at least seen him again, could have at least known he was well. If he was gone… Ares almost couldn’t picture that, it seemed so impossible.

“I do not. He does not always speak to me of his assignments.”

“He was headed down to the deep pits,” broke in another voice, harsh and yet elegant in its own way. Ares didn’t immediately recognize the being who strode up, but her single wing suggested she was one of the Erinyes, the punishers of doomed souls. “King Sisyphus arrived here. Thanatos went to escort him down personally, to be certain he was properly bound.”

“Show me where,” said Ares. He caught the fury’s raised eyebrow, and added, “Lady Erinye. Please.”

“It’s not that simple, unfortunately,” said the fury.

Ares clenched his teeth for the thousandth time, biting back a scream of frustration. “Why not?” he gritted out.

“My realm is meant to be inescapable, war god,” rumbled Hades. “It is ever-changing. To find a specific chamber on demand is only possible if you have been there and set the proper binding. Megaera knows how to find her guard chamber, and the chambers where her charges are held. But Thanatos was to have lead her to Sisyphus for his punishment, and has not yet. So to her, and to any of us here, it is only one location of thousands within an ever-shifting maze. If Nyx cannot sense him, then there is no way to find him directly.”

“Damn you all. Do not tell me there’s nothing to be done!”

“We are already damned, war god,” Hades bit out.

“My Lord.” Nyx’s voice was calm, soothing. “It is difficult to sense a single mortal soul, but I cannot sense Sisyphus either. Ares is quite likely correct that something has gone wrong, though I know not what. Nevertheless, someone should certainly seek out my son. If he is hidden somehow within Tartarus…” She shook her head. “I cannot think of where else he might be, truly.”

“What, you want this Olympian to go wandering Tartarus looking, then? Hah! I doubt he would do such a thing.”

“If that’s what it takes,” said Ares grimly.

“You’d leave Olympus for weeks, months, even years?” said Hades, looking like he was tasting something foul.

“What use my staying, if Death has gone missing? There is no war without death. So yes.”

“Very well. Go, then. You do not have my _blessing_ ,” that was nearly a sneer, “but you have my permission.”

Ares gave only a curt nod, rather than the much more scathing reply that hovered on his tongue. He knew very well that there was bad blood between the House of Hades and Olympus, but what did that matter when someone so vital to both places had vanished?

“I’ll show you the way into Tartarus,” said the fury, her voice gentler, and touched his arm. “Come.”

Ares nodded again, and followed her back down the hall he’d entered by, through what seemed to be an empty storeroom, and out into a courtyard. An open doorway there looked out over Tartarus, with no stair down, but that certainly wouldn’t stop Ares.

“There. Sisyphus is out there somewhere, and once you find him, perhaps he can tell you where Thanatos went. Or, as he is said to be clever and dangerous, perhaps he has trapped Thanatos with him somehow. I’d offer you a better clue if I could.”

“It will suffice,” said Ares brusquely. Then, realizing she was the one who’d done the most to help out of all the Chthonic gods, added, “Thank you.”

“I don’t want to see Than hurt,” she said, and Ares wondered who she was, exactly, to use a pet name for Death. “I’m sure Mother Nyx will keep looking too, but I have a feeling you have a better chance. I’d come help, but Hades would never permit it. He is…unfond of Olympus.”

“I noticed,” said Ares. He shrugged then and added, “I’ll send word when I find him, but I don’t expect to return.”

The fury only nodded agreement. With nothing else to say either, Ares leaped down, into Tartarus, to begin his search.

Almost immediately some of the shades, ones who were more material than the pale things he’d seen at the docks or up in the House, attempted to bar his way. Ares flung himself to meet them with a feeling that was almost like joy. At last, an enemy he could fight!

Ares fought his way with near-manic glee through the first dozen chambers, working out his anger and frustration on the unfortunate guardians of Tartarus. Not a one of them even came close to touching him in that time. War in a rage was a thing of power, and Ares let it all loose. Yet eventually even he began to both calm and tire. He went another half-dozen chambers before one of the wretches managed to injure him. At that point he cleared the space and halted to rest briefly, then continued, fighting through another similar series of chambers, guarded by another similar series of wretches.

Time began to lose all meaning. Ares fought, rested, fought again. The maze was endless, each room different, yet none of them truly unique. They simply went on forever as he searched.

Perhaps it was only a day or two. Perhaps it truly was weeks, or months. Surely not years. Yet finally, bloodied, bruised, and exhausted, Ares stumbled into a room where no enemy shades rose to meet him. It was simply an empty square, with a round hole in the center. He’d found a few other similar places, the deep pits he’d heard of, but this one’s empty state marked it as different. He went to the edge, and gasped, eyes flying wide, as he saw the shadowed shape at the bottom turn golden eyes up to meet his.

Without hesitation, Ares leaped down into the hole, landing beside Thanatos, and he felt it like a stab to the heart when he saw the condition his gentle Death was in.

A long length of heavy chain was wrapped around his body, pinning one arm to his side tightly, links biting into his skin, ichor staining many of them. A second length was attached to the wall of the pit, and ended in a cuff around Thanatos’ wrist, the chain short enough that he couldn’t lower his arm fully, but had it awkwardly held up. Just below the cuff, Thanatos’ arm was a shredded ruin of flesh and ichor, the hand itself obviously dead to the point of rotting, and Ares flinched as he saw the horrible stains on Thanatos’ thin, exhausted face, and realized he had been literally trying to gnaw his arm off to free himself, but had been unable to get through the bone.

“Oh my Lord Thanatos, my sweet gentle Death. I am sorry it took me so long to find you.”

“Ares,” said Thanatos in a thin whisper, his voice harsh and raw.

“I’ll get you free, just a moment.”

“Please. Gods, please…”

“Of course.” Ares drew his sword, then grasped the chain that bound Thanatos’ wrist with one hand, bracing it so the shock of impact wouldn’t jerk Thanatos’ arm too hard. Then he summoned everything that made him what he was, all the power of violence and rage and battle, infusing that into his sword, and struck.

The metal shattered as if it were made of brittle clay, and Thanatos let out a thready sound of relief as Ares gently lowered his arm. “Now, the next,” said Ares, this time carefully wedging the point of his blade in a link of the chain wrapped around Thanatos. That was harder to break, but Ares felt that his rage was nearly infinite, and it sufficed, after a moment, to shatter that chain like the first.

No sooner had the link parted than the chain was flung aside by a sudden explosion of dark feathers and writhing strangeness. Ares didn’t flinch back from that, but held his ground as Thanatos thrashed his wings and whipped tentacles around, heedless of what he was hitting. Ares swiftly realized, though, that Thanatos was probably doing himself harm battering himself against the walls. He didn’t seem to be able to take flight, either. Ares wrapped his arms around whatever he could reach and began stroking feathers, trying to soothe Thanatos as he would a restive war-horse. “Hush, please, calm. You’re free, and I’ll take you out of here, but you must calm yourself.”

“I can’t,” howled Thanatos, his voice even harsher now. “I can’t teleport, I can’t move, I can’t feel my scythe. No, no, no, please, please, I have to go! The souls are calling, I haven’t done my duty and I can’t!”

“Shh, shh, it’s the cuff still on you, my Lord. Please. Be calm, be calm, I’ll take it off, I’ll make sure things are set right. I promise.”

The thrashing subsided, and Ares found himself with an armful of shifting shapelessness that was suddenly holding tightly to him, wings wrapping all around, tentacles curling, nameless things clinging to his clothing and skin everywhere. He continued to stroke whatever of Thanatos he could, and murmur gentle promises. Thanatos slowly relaxed, and though he was still clinging to Ares with much of himself, parts of him slid down to rest on the floor. Ares went with, crouching, then sitting, soon having his lap filled and the rest of Thanatos making a puddle of black, gray, and gold all around him. “There, you’re doing very well. Very well. Now let’s have a look at that cuff. Can you show me where it is?”

A raven’s clawed foot, or a hand very like one, stretched out to Ares, looking just as horribly ravaged as Thanatos’ arm had before, the golden cuff tight around it with half a dozen links of chain still attached. “Hmm. I don’t think I can get it off of you without taking off the hand entirely. I’d rather not, I think it might be saved. Or might not, but…”

“Please? I don’t care. Please, just… Please! I have to go! There are souls waiting!”

“If you’re free enough to change, are you free enough for your influence to reach the surface? The Keres and Hermes and perhaps a few other gods have fetched souls before. I don’t think you’re in any fit shape to try to catch up, my Lord.”

“I…” Thanatos tensed, parts of him holding Ares tightly enough to hurt, then sighed, his desperate grip easing. “Oh. Oh, yes. I… They are. The Keres. They’re reaping now. Is it your war? It’s a war, it must be yours. I… Thank you. I am so tired… But there are other souls.” Despite the alien nature of his voice, Ares thought Thanatos sounded like he might cry. He had enough eyes to do it with, though none of them seemed to hold tears just then. “I’m so tired, but I can’t just leave them…”

“I’ll make sure they’re seen to, my Lord Thanatos, I promise. I’ll see to you as well. Will you let me carry you to my home? I don’t know how to reach yours, and I don’t know how welcome I am in the underworld just now.”

“Yes. Yes, thank you. Please. So tired…” All the golden eyes closed at once, the dark puddle drawing into more of a ball.

Ares picked up Thanatos as best he could. It wasn’t so much that he was heavy, he was bird-light, all feathers and nothing, but he made an awkward burden. Still, Ares only needed a moment, and then they were both gone from Tartarus and standing in the sun-drenched comfort of Ares’ bedroom. Thanatos let out a thready wail and shut all his eyes again. “Bright…”

“Easily fixed,” said Ares. He set down his burden on the bed, where Thanatos curled up even tighter, nearly spherical, all his eyes squeezed tightly closed and wings folded over them.. Ares pulled drapes across each window in turn, until the bedroom was dim, with only the thinnest threads of sunlight leaking around the edges of the curtains. “There. Now, I can go find a file and see about getting that cuff off.”

“My duty… Please, you promised you’d send someone…” It was an exhausted whisper, and Ares felt like his heart might break. It was not an entirely new sensation. A god who dared to love mortals knew heartbreak, but it still pierced him through.

“Of course. I’ll see to it, and be back as soon as I can.”

One golden eye opened, looking at Ares, then closed again. “Thank you.”

Fortunately Hermes was always easy to contact, and Ares easily extracted a promise that he and some of the Anemoi, who were the next swiftest of the gods, since they were gods of wind, would see to catching up on the tally of souls left un-reaped.

That done, Ares rushed back home. He took just a moment, though, to stop by the armory, where in addition to a fine collection of weapons and armor, there were all the tools of their care. A steel file, the hard metal a secret of Hephaestus, was exactly what he needed.

In the dimness of the bedroom Thanatos was still in the bed, though he’d flattened out from his previous tight ball. All his eyes were yet closed, but he seemed to be breathing, or something like it, as he moved ever so slightly in a slow rhythm.

Ares sat on the side of the bed and gently hunted through the many limbs until he found the one bound by the cuff. Thanatos twitched as he pulled it out, but seemed to remain asleep. Ares carefully braced the clawed appendage in his lap and set to work on the bronze cuff with the file. It went slowly, since he was trying to be gentle with the injured limb. Eventually, though, the cuff fell free.

Thanatos sighed and shifted, but did not wake. Ares, looking at the terribly wounded claw still in his lap, thought it just as well, and hoped he could sleep through what must be done next. White bone showed in a full circle around the middle of Thanatos’ forearm, so all the flesh on the claw-like hand itself was dead, and had been dead long enough to start to rot. Ares rose, and returned with a bowl, a jug of water, and a small knife.

For a mortal there would be no point in this, he would have taken off the hand in the first place, but gods could be unpredictable, and Ares hoped that if he removed the dead flesh, Thanatos would be able to grow it anew. Since it was dead, Thanatos wouldn’t feel it, but still Ares worked gently, carefully removing scaled skin, flesh, and tendons, until nothing remained but white bone and black claws. He ignored the scent of rot, setting the awful bits in the bowl to be disposed of later, and finished by carefully cleaning the mostly-healed ends of the flesh midway down Thanatos’ forearm and the still living bone now laid bare. He was glad that, at least, hadn’t been damaged. Losing a limb entire could seldom be healed, even among gods.

With nothing left to do, and feeling entirely exhausted himself, Ares curled himself in the small bit of the bed not completely covered in feathers and limbs, and let himself slide into exhausted sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Ares woke completely wrapped in Thanatos, and wasn’t surprised. He sighed, feeling another flicker of heartbreak. This was not quite what he’d dreamed of when he’d considered serving his gentle Death. It was so close, and yet that dream seemed farther away than ever. Thanatos had been gravely wounded, so now was certainly not the time to revisit his rejection. There probably never would be a time, though.

The feathers around Ares rustled, then withdrew, Thanatos pulling away. Wings, tentacles and other limbs seemed to continue pulling in, blurring and changing, and then Thanatos sat there, looking battered and ichor-stained, his long hair a hopeless tangle, but very much his usual self. “Forgive me,” he said stiffly.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” said Ares, firmly.

Thanatos said nothing, looking away. Ares, frowning, rose from the bed. He was still in the same filthy tunic he’d been wearing as he fought in Tartarus, he’d only shed his armor. Thanatos’ clothing was also very much the worse for wear. Ares considered his options, and was about to suggest a bath, and for him to see if one of his children might perhaps have a robe closer to Thanatos’ size, when to his surprise, Thanatos dropped down on one knee in front of him. “Lord Ares. I owe you a great debt. You have gone far, far above what any would have considered necessary to aid me. If I can repay you—”

“No,” broke in Ares, shaking his head, unable to hold his tongue an instant longer. He took Thanatos’ hand and pulled him up to his feet, almost roughly. “No, please, never kneel to me. I can’t bear that. I understand you have no interest in me, but please, not that. I would not have debts and obligation be the basis of whatever may lie between us, even if that is only that we are colleagues. If you _must_ balance scales, consider this my repayment for when you rescued me from Sparta. But please, I cannot bear to see you kneeling.”

Thanatos blinked at him. “I…” He looked away again after just a moment. “I’m sorry, Ares. I think we have both misunderstood each other. You have spoken often enough of being in my debt. Do you truly mean it, when you say you want no debts between us?”

“Truly,” said Ares. He still had Thanatos’ hand, so he squeezed it reassuringly.

Thanatos began to lift the other, then halted. “Oh gods.” He held up the skeletal hand in front of his face, and to Ares’ surprise, he flexed the fingers of it. Thanatos seemed surprised too, though whether that was solely at the state of the limb or also at the motion Ares couldn’t tell.

“Perhaps right now is not the time for either of us try to settle what the future of War and Death should be,” said Ares, much as he wanted to pounce on the opening Thanatos had given him. “I think right now is the time for us to visit the baths.”

Thanatos wrinkled his nose. “Gods, yes. Ugh.”

Ares led him to the baths, where several large pools were kept full of steaming water. Deimos and Eros were soaking and chatting quietly in one of the pools, both looking up curiously as Ares and Thanatos came in.

Ares went to a different pool and, standing by the edge, happily stripped off his tunic. He turned to Thanatos, to find he was struggling with the buckle that held the winged pauldron of his armor on. It seemed his skeletal fingers were clumsy, even if he could move them.

“My Lord Thanatos… Perhaps for just today, I could serve you? You have been through much, and I am happy to help.”

Thanatos’ expression was uncertain, but after a moment he nodded.

“Only hold still, then, and I’ll see to you.”

Thanatos stood, arms held out, and let Ares undress him. He looked vaguely uncomfortable at first, but soon seemed to relax. Ares attempted to remain as impersonal as possible, but a certain amount of contact was inevitable. Thanatos didn’t flinch from the brush of his fingers, though, nor when Ares took his elbow and helped him down the steps into the water. Ares fetched a washcloth and soap, and wordlessly began cleaning dirt and long-dried ichor from Thanatos’ skin.

Thanatos only sighed and leaned back in the water, letting him. He kept lifting his skeletal hand, moving the fingers, staring at it, as Ares worked. “This will take some getting used to.”

“It might grow back,” offered Ares, looking up from where he was soaping Thanatos’ feet.

“I doubt it. Death is not terribly associated with healing.”

Ares nodded. “If it’s any comfort, there is a certain appropriate elegance to it.”

Thanatos sighed. “Perhaps. I might see about getting something to cover it, though.”

“Understandable.” 

Once Ares had cleaned Thanatos’ skin he set about tending to his hair. It was as stained with dirt and ichor as the rest of him, and tangled beyond belief. Ares sat behind Thanatos, and was glad that the god of death didn’t flinch from that contact. He worked with soap first, then a brush and a bottle of oil, for a very long time until at last he could run the brush from crown to waist without pause. Ares enjoyed the task, however tedious it might have seemed, yet there was a certain melancholy in not knowing if he’d ever offer such service again. He had admired Thanatos for so long, had wished so deeply to make their relationship echo their domains, for War to be beholden to Death, and now he had a taste of it, which was both sweet and bitter at once.

Ares finished, and set about cleaning himself, though his own hair needed little attention. When he was nearly done, he noticed his sons rising from the water. “I’ll be right back,” he said to Thanatos, and got up himself to meet them short of the door.

“Eros? Might I ask a favor?”

“Of course, Father.” Eros smiled, the pink hair he got from his mother framing his face perfectly, even wet. He always looked perfect. He would probably look perfect even on the battlefield, but he was disinterested in his father’s profession. Ares had enough sons, and enough sense, to not mind that, though.

“My guest has managed to ruin his clothing. You’re about his size. Have you a plain chiton or at least a robe he could borrow for a while?”

Eros gave the pool where Thanatos was still soaking a curious look, and turned that look on his father, but Ares said nothing. After a moment, Eros nodded. “I do, yes. I’ve plenty of clothing to spare.”

“If you could bring it here, that would be very helpful.”

“Of course, Father.” He gave a half-bow, and Deimos did the same, before they both left together.

Ares finished his washing, helped Thanatos dry off, and saw him dressed in a plain, long, black chiton, smiling just a little that Eros had selected black. He had obviously recognized their guest. When that was done, though, Ares straightened himself and said, “I hope my brief service has been of use. Is there anything else you need? You may rest here as long as you wish, my L— Lord Thanatos.”

“I think it’s time I returned home. Thank you for…everything, really, Lord Ares. I…” Thanatos swallowed, and his cheeks blushed gold suddenly. “I think, well… I will be back on Olympus soon, to speak to Hephaestus about a gauntlet for my hand. So, if you are amenable, I could come by and speak with you also, then. I… It is tempting to let things fall as they may, but… I have misunderstood you, and led you to think… Augh. I’m not good at these things. We should talk, though, when I return, okay?”

“We should,” said Ares, simply.

Thanatos gave him a curt nod, then vanished in a flash of light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took a heck of a lot of words to get through the 5+1 part of this! 
> 
> Also, the number of Hades stories (mine and everyone else's) that end up in the baths is frankly ridiculous.
> 
> Final chapter tomorrow!


	8. Chapter 8

Ares half expected to never see Thanatos again. He knew perfectly well how difficult such conversations could be, and he particularly knew how letting somebody down gently could be hard. That was the result he expected, should Thanatos indeed turn up for that talk; an apology for his earlier, harsh rejection and misunderstanding, and a gentler rejection that might, perhaps, allow them to still work together as colleagues.

To Ares’ surprise, it was barely two weeks later when he next saw Thanatos.

Ares was in the courtyard again, sparring. He did so as often as he could, wanting to keep his skills sharp. Today his partner was Phobos again. Both he and Deimos were eager warriors, but Phobos was the more meticulous of the two, and dedicated himself more frequently to his training. He was good enough to give his father a challenge.

Ares, however, almost dropped his sword when he saw the dark-clad person floating at the edge of the courtyard, in the shadow of the wall, hood up and eyes squinting against the sunlight.

Phobos instantly pounced on Ares’ hesitation, and though he got his blade up in time to avoid being gutted, he found himself on the defensive, unable to regain his momentum. After a frankly embarrassing few minutes being chased around the practice area he called, “I yield” and lowered his sword.

“My, Father! It’s a rare occasion indeed that I come out victorious!” Phobos grinned, showing slightly pointed teeth.

“Treasure it, then,” said Ares shortly. His heart felt it it wanted to beat out of his chest with an unaccustomed nervousness that bordered on fear. “But now I’ve a guest to attend to. Excuse me.”

“Of course.” Phobos nodded, and Ares sheathed his blade and turned to where Thanatos hovered.

“…Lord Thanatos.” Ares gave him a carefully measured nod. He wanted to fling himself to his knees, but he would do no such thing. And not only because of his dignity in public.

“Lord Ares.” Thanatos’ voice was soft, gentle, and he gave Ares a small, but strangely sad smile that pierced the war god through like an arrow.

“Come, let us speak in private.”

“Yes.”

Ares led the way to his bedchamber, but this time took a seat in a chair there, gestured at another set beside it. Thanatos considered, and tugged the chair out so it was facing Ares before gingerly sitting in it. Ares noticed that he pulled the edge of the long hooded cloak he was wearing over his skeletal hand as he sat, as if to hide it. He frowned at that, but didn’t say anything.

“So. I was tempted to let this all lie and ignore it. Yet I was here on Olympus today, and I feel, well… I feel it would be unfair to leave you believing an untruth. I am… Not always good at making myself clear. Not always good, either, at understanding others.” Thanatos looked down at his lap and sighed. “I have spent my time gathering shades, and that requires little speech. So I think… I think I have misjudged you, and I think I have made you believe that…” He paused, fiddling with the hem of the cloak with his other hand. “When you said… I mean, you’ve spoken of debts so often. That first time, when you cut your hand. You said it was to be even. And I asked. I wanted to know! I asked other gods. I was told you were…violent. Angry. Things I knew but they seemed to think badly of them. They also said you were fair, though. Just. Honest.”

“I try to be,” said Ares, his voice, so used to the tone of command and the shouts of the battlefield, coming out soft. “Though I have not been honest with you.”

“It’s…hard. Sometimes. When you… When you care.”

“Yes. Risking the heart is more perilous than many a war.”

Thanatos looked up, his eyes meeting Ares’. “What you said, when you made the offering. You said you wanted to serve me. If not to pay a debt, then _why?_ ”

“Debt was easier to speak of. I lied about that from the first,” said Ares. He turned his hand over, unable to keep from smiling just a little at the pair of white scars across his palm. He had scarred both times, against all odds, as if the fates had blessed him. “I didn’t cut my hand to make us even, when I gave you back your sword that one time. What use is pain for pain, blood for blood? I cut my hand because I hoped it would scar, because I wanted a mark, from you. Because…” He swallowed. “Because that battle was when I first truly noticed that you were beautiful. I think, sometimes, that you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Ares looked up at Thanatos. “Recall, too, that I live with Aphrodite sometimes. I do not say that lightly.”

Thanatos’ eyes went wide.

“Although don’t tell her I said so, it will get us both in trouble if you do.” Ares banished his smile for the moment, hoping Thanatos would take that to heart. “I lied after that, too. Promising I’d give you any boon in exchange for a few more minutes with my Pyrene. I would give you any boon merely for the asking. Saying I was in your debt for saving me from Sparta, may their hubris be ever cursed. I have been in your debt since the moment you existed, I think. I feel as though I was meant to serve you, meant to put my domain, and myself, in your power, always. Because…” Ares’ heart was pounding, this fear greater than he’d ever known in battle, even when his son, Fear himself, used his full power. “Because I love you,” he said, finally.

Thanatos drew in a soft gasp. His voice shook as he said, “Ares, promise me you don’t lie about this. Promise me. If this is a lie, I think it will break me.”

“No. Not this. I lied because it was easier. Saying this has not been easy, but it’s nothing more than the truth. I’ll take whatever scraps you can spare me, Lord Thanatos, I ask nothing of you. But I love you, and I should never have denied it, to you or to myself.”

Thanatos brought out both his hands, suddenly seeming heedless that one of them was bare bone, and caught Ares’ hands with them. Words poured from him all at once, in a flood. “When I saw you, standing above the pit, come to save me, when it was _you_ there… I had been hoping, all the time I lay trapped, that it would be you. I told myself I didn’t know why, or that it was because your violence would be best suited to finding me there. Any number of excuses. But that wasn’t it. I wanted it to be you, for the same reason I went immediately to find you when Charon told me you’d gone missing. For the same reason I took souls on the battlefield for so long, when they were always meant to belong to my sisters. For the same reason it nearly broke me, to think you only made an offering to me out of obligation. Because I love you too. Because I fell in love with you at least a little bit the first moment I saw you, and I’ve fallen more in love every time since.”

“Oh, my Lord Thanatos…” Ares fell forward out of his chair, onto his knees, clasping both of Thanatos’ hands fervently.

“I was so sure that you couldn’t possibly love a creature like me,” said Thanatos. “I know very well what Olympians think of me. Even in the House of Hades sometimes it’s not much better. It was easier to believe you felt obligation, than to risk hoping it was love.”

“But it is,” said Ares. He lifted Thanatos hands, first the living one, then the other, and pressed a kiss to the back of each.

“I…” Thanatos looked down at him. He was smiling, but there was an uncertainty to the set of his brows. “I am beyond amazed to have your love, Ares. Truly. I find I don’t know what to do with your service, though. I have never imagined myself being… Being whatever it is you want me to be to you.”

“My Lord,” said Ares, swiftly, firmly. “That is what I wish. To serve you as a mortal retainer serves his lord. In whatever way pleases you.”

“I…see. But what if I want is for us to be equals? What do we do then?”

“It’s not about greater or lesser,” said Ares, frowning, struggling for words. “Is the soul of a king heavier than that of his retainers, when you carry them? I know we are equals. Peers. Colleagues, even. But I want to make you happy. I want to find every small thing that brings you pleasure and do it. I want to give you offerings, even if you don’t need them, just so you can feel worshiped.”

Thanatos’ brows smoothed. “I believe I understand. And doing this is what would please you in turn? For I wish to please you too, Ares.”

“It would. Immensely.”

“Very well. Shall I call you my disciple, then? I remember you saying that. I remember every word you’ve said to me, I think.”

“My Lord. Nothing would please me more than to be your disciple.” Ares kissed Thanatos’ hands again.

Thanatos pulled his hands free of Ares’ grip and rose. “Come, then, my disciple. I would have you please me now. I think you can begin by undressing me.” He smiled, making Ares’ heart jump as he added, “It was…very good, when you were taking care of me before, and did that for me.”

“Gladly, my Lord.” Ares felt his head spinning. Could this be real? Could Thanatos have really accepted his service, called him his disciple? Could he really be about to do at least some of the things he’d long dreamed of?

He had to pause to take a breath and still the shaking of his hands, but then he began to remove Thanatos’ clothing, starting with the cloak he’d worn. Ares removed each bit of armor, each item of clothing, with slow reverence, setting them aside on the chair carefully. When he was finished, he sank to his knees and looked up, awaiting his Lord’s will.

Thanatos cupped Ares’ cheek in his hand, stroking his thumb along it. “Very good. Now, perhaps you can disrobe yourself?”

“Of course,” said Ares, rising again. Thanatos went and sat on the edge of the bed as he did, watching intently. Ares felt the weight of those golden eyes on him, and it was a good feeling. He knew how he looked, he had no false modesty, and it seemed that Thanatos found him good to look upon. So he would willingly lay himself bare in body. That was easy, after all, compared to having just laid bare his heart.

By the time he’d finished undressing, Thanatos had moved, shoving several pillows together at the head of the bed and reclining against them, legs spread. Ares needed no command to know what to do about that. He came to kneel between Thanatos’ legs, looking over him. He truly was gorgeous, with his pale, ashy skin perfectly set off by the long, silver hair spread around him, his golden eyes like some skilled jeweler’s accent to his beauty.

Ares felt blessed indeed to be able to touch that beauty. He drew his hands over Thanatos’ skin, savoring how it was cool compared to his own. He savored even more then way Thanatos’ eyes went half-lidded at the touch, his head tipping back as he relaxed. One part of Thanatos was not at all relaxed, though, and becoming less so the more Ares touched him. Ares finally couldn’t resist any longer, and stroked his hands down Thanatos’ hips, then inward to curl one lightly around the death god’s cock.

That too was cool, rather than hot, and blushed with gold darkening to bronze. At Ares’ touch, Thanatos made a soft sound of pleasure and murmured, “Very good.”

Ares bent and kissed up the length of it, slow and sensual, letting the kisses grow wet, tongue caressing as well as lips. That got another sound of pleasure, and the touch of Thanatos’ hand against the top of Ares’ head, carding through his hair.

Glancing up at Thanatos, Ares said, “You can pull on it, my Lord,” before ducking his head and taking the tip of Thanatos’ cock into his mouth. Thanatos’ fingers tightened in Ares’ hair as he gasped, probably not even on purpose, and Ares wanted to chuckle, but was much too occupied going down further, taking as much of Thanatos into his mouth as he could.

He was pleased to find that was all of it. Ares knew what to do with a cock, but more of his lovers had been women than men, so he was perhaps less expert than some, and had never quite managed the skill of deep-throating an unusually large cock on his own, though of course being roughly used by a partner who would take his mouth was always good. Thanatos wasn’t that sort, though, Ares knew, and so it was pleasing to be able to take his cock all the way, letting his tongue press up, swallowing around Thanatos’ head as it just pressed into the back of his throat. To his utter delight, Thanatos’ kept the tight grip on his hair, and even began to use it to guide Ares, setting the pace as he started moving up and down on Thanatos’ cock.

Ares groaned in pleasure, his own cock more than hard, but far more focused on finally, _finally_ being able to serve his lord. Centuries of pent up longing couldn’t be expressed in a mere few minutes, but Ares did the best he could. He threw his all into it, diving down eagerly as deeply as he could each down Thanatos pressed down, and working his tongue over every bit of it every time he drew back.

“Mmm, Ares… That is so good…”

Ares felt a shudder go through him at the praise. He moaned around Thanatos’ cock, going down deep and staying there, even when Thanatos gave a gentle tug back.

Thanatos gasped. “Ah! Oh, yes!” He tensed suddenly, and his other hand came up, the bare bone of it harsh against Ares’ scalp as he gripped tightly and began to push down.

Ares groaned, swallowing repeatedly around the head of Thanatos’ cock, not wanting to pull back. He couldn’t get a breath like this, but he didn’t care. What use was divinity, if he couldn’t do better than a mortal at pleasuring his lord? So he ignored the urge to breathe and stayed down. Thanatos seemed to fully understand his desire, too, for his hands kept pushing down hard, holding Ares in place.

“Oh, Ares…” Thanatos groaned loudly, grip tightening even further, hips lifting, and then with a low cry he came, giving Ares the reward he wanted; Thanatos’ seed, as cool as the rest of him, thick and bitter-salt and wonderful, shooting down Ares’ throat.

Ares felt overcome with it, a thrill as great as any physical pleasure he’d ever felt. Gods below, how long, how badly he’d wanted this, and hadn’t even been willing to admit it to himself. He stayed just where he was until he’d gotten every last drop, until Thanatos’ cock began to soften in his mouth, before finally nudging back against the pressure of his lord’s hands holding him there.

Thanatos immediately let him up, letting his hands fall to his sides with a long sigh. Ares looked up, and smiled, thrilling again to see the pleasure on Thanatos’ face. “You’ve done very well, my disciple,” he said after a moment, and shifted, head lifting to look Ares up and down. A mischievous little smile lifted one corner of Thanatos’ mouth. “I think you should now take care of yourself for me. Just where you are. And sit up straight and spread your legs out, so that I can see.”

Ares felt a flush bloom unexpectedly on his cheeks. He hadn’t expected that command. Hadn’t expected any command in particular, so early on, when Thanatos obviously wasn’t use to taking charge of anyone. Yet he felt his cock jump at the thought of it, and immediately moved to obey with a breathless, eager, “Yes, my Lord.”

Thanatos leaned his head on one hand, smiling, and watched as Ares knelt obediently straight-backed and with thighs apart, knees jut touching Thanatos’ own still-spread legs. Ares curled his hand around his cock, which was thick enough that even his own fingers could only just enclose it, and began stroking.

“Very good.” There was something hungry in Thanatos’ gaze as he watched, and Ares shivered with it. He tightened his grip and stroked faster, chasing pleasure, while part of him wondered just what exactly he might have unlocked, by getting Thanatos to do this. That thought was as arousing as anything else, and it hardly took any time at all for him to be on the edge, breathing hard and stroking himself rapidly.

“Come, Ares,” said Thanatos, his voice low, his eyes fixed intently on Ares. “Come for me, now.”

“Oh, yes, Lord!” Ares came instantly, almost shocked at how easily Thanatos had pushed him over the edge. His seed spurted out, getting all over the bed and on Thanatos as well. When it was done, Ares found himself breathless, muscles trembling in reaction.

Thanatos sat up and reached out, cupping the back of Ares’ neck and pulling him in for a kiss. The motion was commanding, sending another little thrill through Ares, but the kiss was soft, sweet, and with a post-coital glow lingering in him, Ares found himself melting into it, kissing back tenderly.

“Thank you, my Lord,” murmured Ares, when Thanatos released him from the kiss.

“You’ve pleased me well.” Thanatos smiled, his cheeks flushing again. “In fact I enjoyed that much more than I’d anticipated. I thought that, well…” His brows drew together. “I suppose what I was thinking was that I would make a small effort to do something harmless enough but not at all interesting to me by commanding you, in order for you to be happy. But, ah, it turns out I am interested after all.”

“I’m glad. I wouldn’t want you to do something you dislike only to please me, my Lord!”

Thanatos shook his head. “I didn’t expect to dislike it, merely to find it…neutral, perhaps.” Thanatos’ teeth suddenly showed in a grin. “But it seems that you’re fun to have under my thumb. And speaking of, you have made an absolute mess of us both, my disciple. How shameful of you. What do you think you should do about that?”

“Forgive me, my Lord.” A tingle ran down Ares’ spine. “I will clean it immediately.”

“Good. Do so.”

Ares rose, giving Thanatos a glance for reassurance that this was permitted. He’d had the thought perhaps Thanatos had a method in mind—perhaps even the particularly humiliating method of licking it up—but it seemed not. He would have attempted it if commanded, but was glad enough to grab a cloth and clean the mess from Thanatos’ skin, and off of himself next. The bed was more difficult, but he got it as clean as he could.

“Very good,” said Thanatos with a nod. Then he sighed, a less contented sound this time. “Unfortunately, my duty is calling. I’ve left it long enough this time.”

“I understand, my Lord,” said Ares.

Thanatos rose. “Dress me, my disciple,” he said, his tone turning commanding once more.

Ares felt that pleasant shiver again. “Yes, my Lord.” He obeyed, picking up the things he’d set aside and helping Thanatos back into them. When that was done, he didn’t bother to dress himself, but knelt again. “Thank you for letting me serve you, my Lord.”

Thanatos reached down and stroked his hair, then bent and kissed his forehead. “Thank you also, my disciple. I look forward to letting you serve me again soon.”

“I also,” said Ares.

Then Thanatos was gone, vanished in his usual flash of green light.

Ares rose, then sprawled out on the bed. The entire last hour or so felt completely surreal, utterly impossible. “If I’m dreaming, then I should pray to Hypnos that I never wake,” he murmured to himself, and laughed. It was no dream, it was real, and the only other god he would be praying to now was Thanatos, his lord at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! (Forgot to post the chapter notes last night, oops!) Anyhow, this was super fun to write. I have adored the idea of Ares being actually very soft for people he loves, and it was fun to put that into my own story. Coming up next, Ares being not soft *at all* but in a fun way!
> 
> P.S. If you'd like to see me talk about writing, my works in progress, other creative endeavors, and my life in general, check out [my Dreamwidth blog](https://bladespark.dreamwidth.org/) or my [twitter](https://twitter.com/bladespark). I also now run a [multiship, adults-only, kink-friendly Hades server](https://discord.gg/zSUcd9s5rt). Feel free to join!


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